


To Be Loved is To Be the One Destroyed

by Impala_Chick



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/pseuds/Impala_Chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers may have failed to protect New York, but you can be damn sure they will avenge it. Although, as Bruce would tell Steve, no one will be avenging anything  until they at least eat something. </p><p>Or, post-apocalypse heartache with a side of domesticity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Loved is To Be the One Destroyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coricomile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/gifts).



> Huge thank you to Bond_Girl for the beta! And at the last minute, too <3 I originally had a between-battles domestic story all worked out, and then this happened. I hope it isn't too fluffy, Coricomile. I believe the title is from text of City of Bones (although I haven't actually read it yet); I read the quote on a blog and it resonated with me.
> 
> Thanks for the running the tag exchange, mods! This was so much fun - and I got some great tags to work with.

From where Steve sat amongst the rubble, all he could see was a vast wasteland. Cars were overturned and hunks of metal cluttered the streets. The ribs of skyscrapers jutted out and skewered buses. Shards of glass reached towards the sky and poked at the hazy twilight that had descended over the city. Occasionally, he could hear a faint bark from a lonely dog or whispering from some people who had taken shelter within the wreckage. He was at a loss for words. There was nothing else that could be done.

“Not to interrupt, but I could use the company,” a familiar voice attempted to joke. Steve turned around to face Bruce, and was surprised at how stoic Bruce looked. The man had a crooked smile on his face, his hands shoved in his jean pockets. His clothes were intact, which slightly surprised Steve given the fact that he had seen the green guy maybe two hours before.

“Bruce,” was all Steve said as he pulled the man into a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, Cap. I’m just-” Bruce shook his head as he stepped back. 

“There was no way for us to know,” Steve offered to stem the flow of sympathy that he knew would have been forthcoming from Bruce. Steve, Bruce, Natasha, and Sam had whisked away to the west coast for just two days, to assist Scott Lang when he asked for help, but upon returning to Avengers tower yesterday they had realized that the real threat had been to New York. 

Steve had already been to see Tony and Pepper yesterday and today. Tony was not doing well, to say the least. But he wasn’t dead. And he wasn’t going to die if Pepper had anything to say about it. Satellites had exploded and other big cities had been attacked and people were dead and the weight of failure made Steve feel 1,000 years old.

“Cap, don’t do that,” Bruce’s perpetually sad eyes glinted at Steve, searching for something. Steve wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he suspected Bruce found it, because he reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. Their fingers interlaced. For a moment, no one did anything and a kind of calm settled over Steve’s heart. He looked up at Bruce, who offered the shy smile he usually reserved for when he was found half naked after the green guy was gone, or when Steve and Tony were engaged in a battle of wits. 

“One step at a time, Cap,” Bruce whispered. He pulled Steve up and directed him towards Steve’s bombed out apartment. Steve had never been so grateful for Bruce. The guy was a walking heartache at all times, and yet he always managed to find time to be patient and kind. Steve sometimes found Bruce too good to be true. 

Steve trailed slightly behind, musing about how why it was that Bruce practically always called him ‘Cap’, except in private. They had already had _that_ conversation several times though, and Bruce never gave him a satisfying answer. 

“Are you checkin’ me out, Cap? Small pleasures are important today,” Bruce chided Steve but kept walking. Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but openly stare after the blatant invitation.

Steve’s eyes where glued to Bruce’s ass and his feet were on autopilot. He placed each foot into the place where Bruce had just stepped, and this was the way they forged ahead through rocks and concrete and car parts and clothes. 

If Steve had looked up, he would have noticed the couple huddled together under the overpass for warmth, trying to cultivate a small fire. He would have noticed the blood spattered on the sides of buildings, dried to a dark brown. He would have noticed the burnt Captain America toy lying on the sidewalk, its legs ripped off. But luckily Bruce had made sure he just walked on, or else he might have broken down before they even made it home. 

Bruce stopped when they reached Steve’s door. It was tarnished with dents and scrapes, and the side lights were smashed out. But the door still stood, so Bruce pulled out his key and twisted it in the lock. 

Steve gazed inside, surprised that someone had put his living room back together. There was still a pipe that was leaking, and a streak of water dripped down the wallpaper on the east side of the room. His glass coffee table was gone, which Steve was glad for. He had punched through it the night before, the night he had come back from San Francisco, the night he had discovered the destruction. But his chairs were arranged the way he remembered them, and books were back on his bookshelf. 

“Well, C’mon.” Bruce tugged his hand again and Steve stepped over the threshold. 

“Thank you,” was all Steve could murmur as they walked towards the kitchen. Bruce handed him an apple from the fruit bowl, and smiled.

Steve took the fruit and turned it over and over in his hand. It was shocking to be able to hold such an ordinary object in his hand after all he had seen. He admired Bruce as he took a bite, chewing it slowly, savoring it. Steve suddenly experienced a moment of panic, when it occurred to him that Bruce might be leaving after this.  


“Move in with me,” Steve blurted out. He’s sure he blushed ten different shades of red. The aftermath of a terrible failure probably wasn’t the best time to broach this particular subject. It had only been a few months since they started this dating thing, but Bruce was Steve’s anchor. His light in this darkness.

Bruce smiled slowly. Steve was almost blinded by his brightness, but he didn’t look away. 

"I can build another chest of drawers for all of your clothes and if you want to, we can get rid of that Pollock painting because I know it's not your favorite." Steve took a breath to stop himself from babbling. Steve expected Bruce to be surprised, but if Bruce was hesitant, he didn't show it.

“I’ve already got your key, so this seems like the reasonable next step. And we can keep the Pollock. How can I deny the importance of post-war abstract expressionism?” Bruce nodded, and Steve grabbed Bruce’s shirt to pull him in for a chaste kiss.

Turned out that Steve was the one taken aback after Bruce easily agreed to Steve's proposal. He at least expected to put up a fight about the pair of them fitting everything into Steve's one-bedroom place. Then again, neither of them had much left.

“You’re saving me right now, you know,” Steve said against his lips.

“No, you’re saving _me_ ,” Bruce replied, eyes deadly serious.

Steve felt utterly wrecked. He wanted to save the world, he wanted to pick up every broken piece of New York and glue it all back together, he wanted to just disappear forever, he wanted Bruce to spread him out on his fucked-up post-apocalyptic carpet and prove to him that they were still _human beings_ and not just terrible excuses for super heroes.

Bruce broke Steve’s gaze to turn towards the back door. The screen had been blown off, but the door still worked. 

“Look, old man, we can sit here and pout or you can come get the laundry off the line out back with me.”

Steve took a deep breath, and grabbed Bruce’s wrist.

“Let me take care of you.” Steve didn’t like giving orders to Bruce, didn’t want the line between work and play to become blurred, didn’t want to feel like he was influencing Bruce in some weird boss way, but today he couldn’t help himself.

Bruce came away from the door willingly and Steve was thankful he didn’t have to put up a fight. There had been too much fighting, maybe for both of Steve’s lifetimes.

Steve kissed him long and slow, and thrust his hands into Bruce’s back pockets. He squeezed his ass with both hands. Bruce backed them up until they were in the bedroom. The fading sun had found its way through the hole in Steve’s, no, _their_ bedroom wall, and the room was gently illuminated with the barest hints of fading sunlight. 

They tumbled onto the bed, and Steve curled himself around Bruce. Steve kissed Bruce’s cheek, Bruce’s nose, his ear lobe, along his jaw, everywhere he could. Bruce breathed in deeply, and Steve finally felt his body shudder and relax. 

Steve vaguely wondered how long he could get away with lying here like this. Because inevitably, even though New York was still smoldering around them, Bruce would make him get up and eat something. For now, he would pretend that nothing existed besides the soft bed beneath him and the beautiful man next to him.


End file.
